MUSE
by s2.koiishii.s2
Summary: Music comes to different people in different ways and somehow that’s the only common ground they find themselves agreeing to: Music. He writes his songs, she writes hers. Will they ever admit the secret behind their songs? SxS R&R.


**MUSE**

By: s2.koiishii.s2

Music comes to different people in different ways and somehow that's the only common ground they find themselves agreeing to: Music. He writes his songs, she writes hers. But it's a long shot before they would realise and even admit that all this time, they've been writing about each other.

HEADS UP: Warning that there will be lots of swearing and stuff in this fic. Disclaimer, as per usual, still applies.

**CHAPTER ONE: MY NEW HOME**

Syaoran Li found himself at the centre of one of the busiest towns in Tokyo. Despite the late hour, people were scattered along the streets getting on with their business as if it was the middle of the day. Restaurants were full of dining patrons; drunkards graced the curbs waving their bottles around waiting for a riot while street vendors yelled over the bustling chaos attempting to sell the remaining merchandise on their portable stalls. Children weaved their way through the crowd playing a game of tag, their squeals and laughter enveloping the night with an ambience kin to a family festival. It was a cold, lively night which reminded Syaoran of what he had just left behind. His home of two years was miles and miles away, a small, humble apartment in a quiet suburb in the middle of no where. He hadn't known what to expect of Tokyo but what he had found was a jungle of sky-rise buildings and blinding neon lights. It was too loud and busy for his liking.

He pushed his way through the crowd, keeping his luggage close to him. He didn't want to admit it but he didn't know where he was going; he had been walking for almost 3 hours already and the house he was looking for wasn't anywhere in sight. He drew closer to a flashing neon sign on the side of the street, placed his guitar which was safely zipped up in its black casing between his legs and pulled out a small piece of paper from the back pocket of his black jeans. The paper was crumpled with hints of blue writing across it. The ink had bled through the paper, making the writing almost impossible to read; He couldn't believe that he had forgotten to take it out before having his clothes washed. He unfolded it, thumbed even the crinkles and squinted at it to discern the once small and neat writing sprawled in the midst of it. From what he remembered when he first read it, it was suppose to say:

102 / 51B Shio-Aita Street,

Central Tokyo 98921

He lifted the paper and held it beside the blinking light beside him, frowning at his predicament. He wasn't too sure if the 'B' was supposed to be either an '8' or a '3'. He was hungry, tired and frustrated. He just wanted to settle unto a bed and doze off but from the looks of things, he was going to end up spending the night on the streets. He looked around, attempting to find a friendly face to ask for directions but before he could tap an old man who looked sober enough on the shoulder, something slammed straight at him from behind, making him topple forward. His guitar slid from the midst of his knees, cushioning the fall of the 'thing' that had run unto him. Syaoran turned around and found a small, thin boy who was about to bolt from sight but he grabbed him by the back of his shirt right on time and lifted him off the floor.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Syaoran growled, slightly shaking the brat in his grasp, "Are you blind?" He didn't need any more grievances at his current state of homelessness and frustration. He just wanted to find his new home.

"N-n-n-o sir," the boy squeaked, small and frightened, "It was an accident, I'm really sorry!" His two, round eyes looked up at Syaoran's towering figure and anger-filled expression. He was about to pee his pants.

Syaoran bent over and picked up his guitar without letting go of the boy, "Be thankful you're puny or the thing you landed on would have cracked... and then you would have REALLY been in deep shit."

"Sorry!"

Syaoran sighed and let the boy on his feet but he didn't let go of his shirt, "What's done is done. Can you tell me where Shio-Aita is?"

The boy slightly hesitated, "If I tell you will you let me go?"

"Hey, I'm letting you off easy. You probably snapped one of the strings of my guitar which will be a damn hassle to replace and it'll bloody cost me too. Just tell me where it is before I get even more pissed off."

He could feel the boy shaking in fright in his hand but he didn't let go. His patience had long worn thin and he just wanted to get out of the crowded street. "So where the hell is it?"

"D-d-d-own the the street," the boy stuttered, "You walk straight down there and and and then you turn left at the fourth crossing. That should be Shio-Aita."

"Are you sure?" Syaoran asked in a cold, irritated tone, "Listen to me brat, if I don't find it, I'll hunt you down and chop off your tongue for lying to me."

"I'm sure-sure!" he yelped, "I have a friend who lives there so I know."

Syaoran nodded his head and loosened his grasp on the boy's shirt, "left at the fourth crossing did you say?"

The boy nodded his head in response. He circled his hands over each other, waiting to be dismissed.

"Thanks." Syaoran grunted, "Kids like you should be home at this time already. Hurry up and go home. And watch where you're bloody going next time."

The boy quickly turned around and squeezed through the crowd, disappearing in an instant. Syaoran slightly adjusted the straps of his back pack, lifted his other duffel bag and his guitar case in his hands and proceeded down the street as the boy instructed. Some of the weight pulling down inside him seemed to lighten at the thought that he was finally getting somewhere.

When he reached the second crossing, he was glad to find that the busy, commercial street he had just been in was a good distance behind him. He was happy to welcome the silence and peace of the street he was in; the houses were small and close to each other with the occasional apartment buildings. He had been told that the house he would be staying in was one of those small, two-storey villas that had 5 other similar villas beside it, all six were conjoined by joint walls, one standing after the other. And the whole complex was apparently a 'friendly' light avocado colour. Syaoran knew that he had no talent whatsoever in the art department so he need not bother imagining how it would look. He just had the feeling that he shouldn't expect anything 'pretty'.

He finally reached the fourth crossing, pulling at the straps on his shoulders. Glancing around, he found the sign post and sure enough, it read 'Shio-Aita'. He sighed in relief and turned left, squinting in the darkness to find the numbers of the first few houses he encountered. The night was eerie quiet; the homes along Shio-Aita Street were shrouded in gloom. It was either everyone had already retired to bed or that everyone was out gallivanting in the shops and restaurants up the road. Syaoran just hoped that the people he was going to live with from then on were home and awake because that last thing he needed was to find his new home only to sleep outside of it. Although if worse came to worse, especially in his desperate state, he planned to simply break into the house, sleep like a log and explain everything when tomorrow came.

He progressed down the street with heavy steps. His whole body was aching, his head was pounding and his luggage was starting to weigh double the weight they were supposed to be. Syaoran willed himself forward, step by step, it shouldn't be much further. To his relief, through out the length of the long-winding street, there were only two establishments that came close to the colour green. They stood nearly right opposite of each other but one was a villa and the other was a 6 storey building of apartments. Neither of them was avocado-coloured. Or perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Syaoran approached the villas and put his luggage down. He fumbled with the paper in his pocket and checked the supposed number of the property written on the note: 102 / 51B. He raised a brow and frowned. There wasn't a '51B'. But he did find a '518' which was close enough. Like a snail, he carried his bags and proceeded to enter the gate of the third villa out of the six that stood side by side. Once inside the small, front garden, he climbed unto the two steps that lead to the door. He jammed his finger down on the doorbell, ringing it three times. He waited as patiently as he could but no one came down to open the door for him. He knocked a couple of times, softly at first until he was practically punching the door to open. It seemed that no one was home. Didn't they know that he was arriving that night?

Irritated and tired beyond words, he stepped back and looked around to find any sort of opening to get inside. Unfortunately, the window beside the door was barred so he couldn't possibly go in that way. The window on the second floor was too high and unreachable to break into. Syaoran gritted his teeth and growled. He didn't travel all that way to sleep outside like some stray animal. He walked to the side of the house and to his sudden delight, found a small pathway that lead to the back garden of the villa. He squeezed himself through, tugging at his bags and scraping himself on the cement wall in the process. He broke free from the minuscule space, his bags in tow.

The back garden looked similar to the front garden. It was bare cement with no trace of shrubbery, plants or trees. Syaoran put down his bags and his guitar and went to try and open the back door. To his surprise, it was unlocked.

When he opened the door, he found himself in a small kitchen that had a simple wooden dining table pushed to a corner. Bottles and cans of beer were everywhere, along with plastic cups and paper plates. Five boxes of left-over pizzas sat on the dining table, cold and perhaps a few days old. Syaoran wrinkled his nose, the place smelt like a dump. He tip-toed across the mess and called out, "Hello? Is anyone home?"

Dead-silence answered his call. He tried again, louder this time.

"Shut the fuck up!" a soft, feminine voice slurred back, "Ugh, my fucking head hurts."

Syaoran searched for the source of the voice, thinking he was imagining things but was astounded to find a girl leaning against the inside of a small fridge as if it was some study table. She was wearing nothing but a pair of black cotton briefs and a striped black and pink bra. She had long auburn hair that reached to the middle of her back, her skin was sun-bronzed and her nails were painted with chipped, black nail-polish. He didn't know what to do or say, did he somehow stumble in some house orgy by some mistake?

"Yue," she slurred, "Is that you?"

Syaoran approached the girl and knelt beside her, watching as she shivered from the cold, half-asleep. From closer inspection, her face was flushed; thick mascara and eye liner were smudged all around her eyes and cheeks. She nuzzled against her arm, attempting to find a comfortable position. Cold fog from the fridge seeped through her small body, the skin on her arms, stomach and legs were filled with goose-bumps.

"Hey," Syaoran said, shaking her on the shoulder, "I don't think you should be sleeping there."

"I told you to mind you own fucking business Yue!" she yelled, bringing her other arm to cover her face, "Go away already."

"But you're going to get sick." he probed on, "Come on, let's get you out of there." Syaoran frowned in irritation, the girl had a filthy mouth. He was one of those guys who didn't find girls who cursed too much to be very appealing. But the view of her cleavage from where he was kneeling was slowly changing his mind. He was like every other hormonal teen aged boy after all.

"Fucking prick, go away!"

Syaoran shook her shoulder again, "Did you take something? Do you remember what you took? Do you need an ambulance?"

He heard her growl in frustration, burying her face deeper against her arm, "Go away!" When he continued to shake her, she turned her head towards him and glared at him. His face was a bit of a blur.

Syaoran prided himself as being quite persistent. Other than that, he didn't want the guilt of leaving the stupid girl sleeping all night in the freezing cold in his conscience. Heck, he didn't even know if he was in the right house! He smirked when he felt the girl pivot her head to look at him; it seemed that he had succeeded in waking her up. He almost stumbled back when the girl opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Bright but glassy emerald eyes stared at him, emphasised by thick layers of eye liner and mascara. He had never in his life seen eyes like hers.

For a few seconds he was transfixed, his breath caught in his throat. She blinked, a frown on her beautiful face, "So, what the fuck do you want?"

"N... nothing." he stuttered.

"I told... you Yue that when... I'm having my moment... with the... fridge," she said slowly, finding it difficult to put words together, "I want absolute... peace...and fucking quiet. Damn it." She turned her head back against her arm and with a mouthful of cold fridge air, she closed her eyes and dozed off.

When he had finally found himself as himself again, he nudged her gently and concluded that she was in fact deep asleep. He stood up, straightened his clothes and bent over to pick her up. To his relief, she didn't wake up and struggle against him. She was light and small in his arms but she smelt badly of alcohol – he wouldn't be surprised if she was the one who drank all the bottles and cans of beer scattered all over the kitchen.

He navigated around the house in the dark, unsure of where to go. Seeing as it was a small house, he found the staircase easy enough, climbed it and went into the only room with an open door. Moonlight streamed through the window on the opposite side of the room, illuminating the bed and the few small pieces of furniture. He settled her on the bed and pulled the covers over her slender body, taking in the soft contours of her hips, thighs, stomach and shoulders. His eyes settled on her face the longest, ignoring the make up and wanting more than anything to pry her eyes open and stare unto her emerald orbs forever. He sighed, bringing a hand to his temples. His body felt so heavy and tired.

He turned around for the door but found it barricaded by a tall, lithe person leaning casually against the door frame. From the person's height and body, Syaoran knew it was a man. But he had a feminine face, sharp features with silver, feline eyes. Syaoran knew that he was straight as a stick but he couldn't deny the fact that the man in front of him was inhumanely beautiful. He was topless and wearing a pair of black pajama bottoms. The dark hue of his clothing sharply contrasted against his pale skin and silvery-white hair, making him look somewhat like an ethereal entity.

"I thought I heard the floor boards squeak," the man drawled out, his words soft, slow and lazy, "Seems like I wasn't imagining things." His feline eyes trapped Syaoran on the spot.

Syaoran's first reaction was to panic and bolt. He didn't exactly possess enough money to go and defend himself in court if he was sued for trespassing. "Look, I'm really sorry if I just went in here--"

The man chuckled softly, crossing his arms. "In the long years I've lived with Sakura, she's never managed to get herself back into bed after her pathetic drinking sprees. I go to check downstairs to pick her up from the fridge as usual but tonight I find that she's not there anymore. Thanks for getting her back to bed. She must have given you a taste of her foul mouth."

"Um, the thing is I'm not really sure if this is the right place--" Syaoran interjected but found himself cut in mid sentence again. It seemed that the man didn't fancy listening to other people talk.

"You can take the couch downstairs."

"But--"

"Eriol told me that the new guitarist had brown hair and whatnot." the man blinked lazily and stood up straight, "Let's leave the formalities of introduction tomorrow when everyone's awake. Good night."

"Thanks--"

"And welcome. Lousy welcome but welcome to the family nonetheless."

Syaoran watched as the man disappeared into the last door down the short corridor, leaving him alone in the darkness. He climbed down the stairs, maneuvered around the small house into the backyard, picked up his things and settled unto the couch, instantly dozing off with nothing but the image of a certain pair of emerald eyes that he knew would haunt him until he drew his last breath.

Tomorrow should be a busy day, but at that moment, he just couldn't bring himself to care.

A/N: I know that there must be hundreds, if not thousands of stories about bands and whatnot. But I've been meaning to write a story like this for quite some time now, hopefully it gets as much attention as My Only Wish. To be honest, this didn't come out as structured as I'd wanted but I had to rush this in half a day because I've totally neglected my uni stuff due tom! But I aim to make this a little more reality-orientated, a bit more serious unlike MOW.

If you have spared you time to read this, thank you so much for doing so. I'm looking forward to hearing your comments, suggestions, criticism etc.

Till' next time, xo - koiishii


End file.
